


For Blue, Blue Skies

by Dredfulhapiness



Category: Spider - Fandom, Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Best Friends, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Drug Use, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 16:38:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18854905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dredfulhapiness/pseuds/Dredfulhapiness
Summary: Mathematically, one of two things should have happened when Peter and Harry became friends. The first solution was that Peter’s negative social status would bring Harry down. The second solution was that Harry’s overwhelming social prowess would make Peter popular enough that Flash Thompson would invite him to a party.(Previously titled 'I Wish We Met Before They Convinced You Life Is War)





	For Blue, Blue Skies

Mathematically, one of two things should have happened when Peter and Harry became friends. The first solution was that Peter’s negative social status would bring Harry down. The second solution was that Harry’s overwhelming social prowess would make Peter popular enough that Flash Thompson would invite him to a party.

It actually ended up equalling zero.

Flash had stopped bothering him. At least, he waited until Peter was a few steps ahead of him before telling Liz how much Peter Parker could suck it. That was something Peter could handle.

Peter was invited out because Harry was going out.

“Come get drinks with us,” he would say as he stood in the mirror tying his tie. He’d watch Peter in the reflection as he flipped through the radio channels pretending to be busy. He was waiting for Harry to leave so he could slip out the window and into the night. “I convinced Gwen to come.”

For the first time, Peter had something resembling a friend group, even if the only people he could consider himself close to were Harry, Gwen, and MJ. On the occasional Friday night he found himself out instead of swinging around. He went to parties, he flirted, he fell in love. Peter actually got to be _Peter_ instead of being Spider-Man, and it felt amazing.

The first time Gwen leaned into him, cheeks flush from the alcohol, and whispered into Peter’s ear that she hoped they could do this again, he forgot Betty Brant’s name altogether.

Peter wasn’t an outcast looking over his shoulder anymore. He also wasn’t too popular for his “job.” Harry’s friendship had helped develop a happy balance between social life and vigilantism.

Social indifference wasn’t the only benefit to Harry’s friendship. Having a place to live was decently nice, especially since he was letting Peter stay in his apartment for free. There was also the fact that Harry’s father was Norman Osborn, owner and CEO of the largest tech company on the east coast. 

“Take the job.” Harry urged for the umpteenth time. “You’re a hard worker. It’s a job you’ll be able to get on your own eventually. It’s not cheating to get a head start.”

That’s exactly what cheating was. That didn’t make the offer any less appealing. 

“It doesn’t feel right, Har,” Peter said because his suit felt hot under his clothes. Harry didn’t know just how well Peter actually knew his father. Thankfully, Norman hadn't shown any sign of remembering his stint as the Green Goblin. That meant that he didn't remember Peter being Spider-Man, but Peter was sure that luck would run out eventually. If a hit to the head could make him forget, what said a harder hit to the head wouldn't make him remember?  It was also because… “I don’t want to get a job just because I’m your friend.”

“Fine.” Harry kicked his shoes off as he pushed into the apartment. “How about this? You interview with my dad, just like anyone else, and you see how it goes?”

Peter hesitated. He was going to be out of college soon enough, and a leg up would be nice, especially considering the fact that he'd had a hard time in class due to his "job." Besides, if Norman was going to remember him, not taking the job wouldn't change that.

“No guarantees?” The corner of Peter’s lip twitched.

Harry held out a fist. “No guarantees.” 

Peter got the job. When he approached Harry about this, straddling the line between ungrateful and triumphant, Harry had simply shrugged and slid the bowl of cereal he had poured across the table to Peter. “I guess this calls for celebration, then. You were qualified. I’m proud of you, man. When you start making bank I’m gonna start charging you rent.”

Peter smiled and ate a bite of cereal.

* * *

 

Harry’s friendship didn’t come without its downfalls. It was something Peter picked up on slowly. Piece by piece. After the night at the theater, after their fight. After Harry had tried to kick Peter out.

Harry had more pills in his medicine cabinet than a pharmacist had at work. Quite a few of them weren’t legal. Even more were, which was more concerning.

Spider-Man could fight off villains (and he did his fair share of that), but Peter couldn’t approach Harry without getting trod on.

More than once broaching the subject led to an argument. It was always the drugs-- and MJ, sometimes, but most of those arguments were had when Harry wasn’t in his right mind. Peter felt, sometimes, like he was trying to hold onto a fraying thread. Being Harry’s friend sometimes felt like a full-time job, and that wasn’t something Peter could handle on top of work, school, and babysitting the city.

He talked to everyone he could think to-- MJ, Gwen, even Norman, but it didn’t do anything. The night Norman Osborn died, Harry was on bed rest and still suffering from a bad trip. For the past few days, the apartment had been quiet and eerie, but not nearly as unsettling as walking into the Osborn mansion and finding a discombobulated Harry. If Norman had let him see him, Peter might have been able to understand. He may have been given a chance to see his best friend as himself one last time. Instead, Peter saw him confused and lost, looking for someone to help him understand. Instead of helping, Peter continued his search for revenge. 

* * *

When Norman Osborn died it didn’t take long for the papers to start blaming Spider-Man. For once, J. Jonah Jameson wasn’t publishing lies, just not the full truth, and the fact made Peter a little sick to his stomach.

After the glider had impaled him, Peter took the time to remove Norman's Green Goblin costume to ensure anonymity. 

He did it to assuage his own guiltlessness.

Spider-Man doesn’t kill. Until he did, that is, and Peter was disgusted by how unashamed it made him feel. He had just killed someone-- he had just killed his best friend’s father and he felt nothing as he shifted the body back into position and prepared to leave with the mask and costume.

Even the thought of an avenged Gwen didn’t fill him with relief.

Peter returned home to find MJ outside their apartment. He took his confusion out on her.

* * *

 

They'd gotten medical clearance for Harry to attend Norman's funeral. Standing in line, Harry still looked gaunt and shaky. Peter watched him carefully. His Spider senses were tingling, but he couldn't figure out why, so he forced himself to chalk it up to MJ pointedly avoiding his gaze.

When the funeral ended, Peter put an arm out for a hug. Harry fell into him, his head buried in Peter's shoulder, his arm tight around his neck. Peter held them both upright as Harry shuddered. For the first time, Peter felt the stirrings of guilt.

"C'mon," he murmured into his friend's ear, "Let's head home."

After returning to the apartment, though, they simply sat in a simmering silence that Peter didn’t know what to do with. 

“I hate him,” Harry said. There were tears streaming down his cheeks. Peter looked up, confused. “Spider-Man. I hate him.” Peter’s lips formed an ‘O.’

“They don’t know for a fact that it was him,” he tried carefully.

“God, not you too.” His hand clenched into a white-knuckled fist. “If it walks like a duck and talks like a duck--”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Peter looked down at his lap.

“Everyone is out there defending him and saying what a _hero_ he is--”

“I just meant--”

“You’re supposed to be on my side, Peter.”

“I _am_ on your side,” Peter shot back. “Everyone is on your side, Harry. All any of us have wanted to do is _help_ you.” He cleared his throat. When he spoke again, his voice was lower. “I know how you feel.” He chose to ignore the glare Harry aimed at him. “When my uncle died all I wanted to do was find the guy who killed him and… But that’s not the way, Har. You’ll get so obsessed with revenge that you’ll lose track of everything else.”

“That’s not the same thing.” Harry’s tone made Peter flinch. “The man who killed your uncle got arrested. I know who killed my dad, and no one is going to do anything about it but me.”

“People are investigating--”

“He killed Gwen, too. Are you just going to forget that?”

 Peter’s heart jumped. He could tell by the look Harry was giving him that the line was meant to hurt him. He was supposed to rise to the bait. Instead he answered calmly, “of course I’m not.” and stood. “I should probably--”

"Wait, Peter." Harry reached out and grabbed Peter's wrist. "I’m sorry. Pl-please don't go."

Peter looked down at where they were connected. He swallowed, then met Harry's gaze. His eyes were wide and wild, and Peter suddenly thought about any medicine they'd missed when he, Gwen and MJ had swept the apartment. He thought about Harry, high, pleading, "please don't go. How will I know that you were really here, Peter?"

he said finally, "I'm just going to grab some water… I'll get you one, too."

* * *

 

MJ had silently forgiven Peter for the night Gwen died. She arrived at his apartment with two cups of coffee and a serious expression on her face. That was the day he broke down and told her. She'd taken it better than he expected (what was the proper way to respond when you found out that your ex's best friend is Spider-Man?), But she hadn't judged him or shied away.

 “Gwen,” she said, “You didn’t…”

 Peter shook his head. “She fell from the bridge. I tried to catch her. I don’t know what killed her, if it was the fall, if it was the webbing-- I don’t. I don’t know.”

 “And Goblin was…”

“Harry’s father, yeah.” 

“Jesus,” she breathed. “Peter, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. He ducked his head and stared at the top of the kitchen table. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save her.”

MJ put a hand on his. “I don’t blame you.” A pause. “But you gotta move on, Peter. Don’t let this eat you up.”

Coffee dates became something of a weekly event.

“You can’t save everyone,” MJ reminded him gently. They were sitting on a rooftop, staring out over the city. He could tell it bothered her too. Harry was her friend just as much as his. “He’s sick.”

She’d said this before the declaration. Before Harry-but-not-Harry had looked Peter in the eye and sworn to kill Spider-Man. Before he hadn’t heard from Harry in two weeks. 

Peter took a long swig of his coffee. He was in his suit, but his mask was off. Sweat clung to his forehead and his muscles were sore, but this break made him restless. It was one of the first times he'd been out since Norman Osborn's death had been publicized and he'd forgotten how much he missed the freedom, the weightlessness.

“I can try,” he said. He felt guilty as soon as he said it. He tried again, “I can try to save _him_ , at least.”

MJ sighed. “I’m not going to try to stop you,” she told him, which he knew meant _do your best._

 Trying his best started by talking to him as a friend. Harry, pulled up into himself, eyes glinting with something that wasn’t quite human, looking past Peter. _It’s the drugs,_ Peter reminded himself, but it didn’t make him feel better.

It had taken Peter a while to find him. He was holed up in his father’s old house-- a place Peter hadn’t been welcome since Norman kicked him out when Harry had overdosed.

“I know a doctor,” Peter told him. “We can get you help.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry argued, and Peter sighed. He thought about the first time they’d had this conversation when Peter had tried to talk him out of taking so much medicine. That had been the first time Harry had warned him to mind his own business. “I’m fine.”

MJ had tried to talk to him, too. She was the only one who ever managed to get through to him, but he didn’t even budge this time.

“I’m not in the business of listening to women that aren’t dating me,” he said, and he didn’t apologize when MJ recoiled.

“It’s not him,” Peter reminded her, quiet, but he wasn’t sure anymore. He turned his attention back to the friend they were trying to help. “Why don’t you come home? This is a big place to be in all alone.”

“I’ve been using my father’s research,” Harry said, “It’s too much to bring home.” 

“His research?” Peter leaned forward in his seat. “What for?”

Harry looked up with only his eyes and said simply, “I’m going to kill Spider-Man.”

* * *

 

When Peter saw the Green Goblin again, he didn’t have any doubts about who it was. The fight was harder than he’d expected it to be. He was disappointed.

He’d expected Harry to be better.

* * *

 

When Harry died, it was the silence that tore Peter apart. When his hand went slack in Peter’s, it wasn’t grief that struck Peter first. It was relief, and then guilt, and then crippling loneliness.

The ambulance sped up. EMTs swarmed. Peter realized it didn’t matter. Harry died gripping Peter’s hand. Silent. When the ambulance pulled up to the hospital, Peter swung away without looking back. 

He recounted the battle to MJ on the front porch steps of the funeral home. His forehead was in his hand. His voice was steely.

This wasn’t the first time Spider-Man had failed to save someone. He’d gotten used to that. Being a hero meant losing people. It meant trying, and failing, and trying a little bit harder. This feeling was different. More Personal. It was akin to watching Uncle Ben die. Except, no one could blame Spider-Man for this, not even Peter.

For the first time in his life, Peter had failed to save someone.

“That’s not true, you know.” MJ frowned at Peter when he finished explaining this. “You _did_ save him.”

Peter scoffed.

“I’m serious,” MJ said. She looked guilty. Peter hadn’t noticed that before.

"He asked me for help," Peter said. "The night Gwen died."

"Peter, you can't--"

"He _begged_ me for help, MJ. And you know what I did?" Peter laughed, harsh, but tears welled up in his eyes. "I ignored him, and I went out, and I killed his dad." 

MJ didn't respond. Her head was bowed, face cased in shadow. She was crying, sniffling quietly into the night.

“This might not have happened,” Peter said. His jaw was set. His eyes were misty. Part of him was tempted to reach out and comfort MJ by putting a hand on her shoulder, but it didn’t feel right. He kept his hands to himself. “If I had stayed.”

“Or it might have.” MJ wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve. “What difference does it make? You can’t change the past, you can only live with what you’ve done.”

“What if I can’t?” Peter’s voice was hoarse.

“I don’t think you really have a choice.” MJ looked at him. She reached out and took his hand. Gentle. “I think about that night outside the theater all the time. And the next day. I was awful to him. I can’t take that back.”

Peter slumped and rested his head against the side of hers. People were starting to file out of the funeral parlor: classmates, family, press. Peter hadn’t realized how alone they’d been until they were suddenly in the middle of a crowd.

“You were able to give him peace, you know,” MJ said, just loud enough for Peter to hear. “Before he died. Forgiveness. Not everyone gets that.” She was rubbing her thumb against the back of his hand. “Sometimes saving people doesn’t mean punching their enemies.” 

Peter closed his eyes. He hummed, something of agreement, or acknowledgment, or exhaustion.

"I said some pretty horrible things to you that night, too," he said. His voice was hoarse. "I never apologized for it."

"I know," MJ answered simply. 

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

The parking lot emptied out. Once again, it was just MJ and Peter outside of the funeral home, still connected, still holding hands. MJ sighed, long and low, and Peter hummed again. For a moment, he could imagine he was in the back of the ambulance again comforting his best friend. Reconciling. He thought, again, about that being a form of saviorism. The thought made his chest tight, but not in a bad way. He hoped Harry was at peace.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I love Harry Osborn with all my heart and there's not enough love for him on this website. This is actually my longest ever one-shot fic, so yay me! 
> 
> The title is from For Blue Skies by Strays Don't Sleep
> 
> Also, if you want to contact me you can find me on Twitter with the same username!


End file.
